Knotted
by Gaslightghostie
Summary: A simple act of kindness sparks a whirlwind of confusion between Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. As they unravel layers of each other, they find some knots cannot be undone. First fic! slashfic, m/m, Hulk/Iron Man, sciencebros, angst. Some lemon, rated M for safety.
1. Coming Undone

Bruce Banner slammed his hands on the edge of the table, sucking in deep, heaving breaths through his teeth. Fragments of metal, tiny and smoking from a recent violent explosion were strewn across the smooth expanse of the metal slab. Tony Stark paused in the doorway, a glass a scotch in each hand and a concerned look on his face.

"You alright there, big guy?" he began, tentatively stepping forward, "Remember how we talked about controlling your 'friend'? Meditation, big bag of weed, et cetera?" He took another step forward, and ducked as a shard of metal whizzed past his left ear. Glancing back he saw the shrapnel had embedded itself in the wall. Bruce spun around, a slight green tinge spreading across his cheeks and the backs of his hands.

"I'm a little frustrated," he spat, sweeping the remains of his project off the table, " I've been working on this project for days and can't seem to get it to work." Tony nodded, looking thoughtful. He plunked down into a chair and handed a glass of scotch to Bruce, who tossed it back, scowling.  
"Listen, Banner," he began, sipping the amber liquid and wincing, "You gotta step back and take a minute to calm down. Can't have your little buddy coming out, now can we? I just got this lab re-tiled."

Bruce sighed. In the six months he'd been living in Stark Tower, he hadn't had an incident. Life was slow, he had his own floor to work on, and Pepper's frequent trips on behalf of Stark Industries let him spend weeks at a time with Tony, whom he had grown close to. They often spent evenings drinking and sorting through tomes on physics and radiology in the extensive scientific library downstairs. Still, sometimes frustration brought out the monster in him, and he had so far been beat it back.

Tony put his glass down, and let his eyes wander to the doorway that would bring him to his suit room in the event of a Hulk incident. They had built the lab belly up to the armory as a backup measure.

"No.." Bruce muttered, rubbing his face tiredly, "I'm fine. Just give me some time alone, and-" He trailed off, clenching and unclenching his fists. Without thinking too much about it, Tony let his hand reach up and rest on the younger man's shoulder. His fingers brushed against the obviously knotted muscles in Bruce's shoulders.

"Here's your problem," he observed, "You're tense as hell. Drop the project for a few minutes and let's head up to my floor. I have this Russian balm Natasha gave me. Works like a charm." Bruce nodded almost imperceptibly, eyes clouded with frustration. As his hand fell away from Bruce's shoulder, Tony semi-unintentionally let his fingers graze the side of Bruce's arm. Bruce sighed, exhausted from the emotionally draining experience of the afternoon.


	2. Scar Tissue

They made their way silently to the elevator, both aware of a strange new tension buzzing between them. Tony cleared his throat.

"I've got this stuff in my room that Natasha gave me. Some kind of Russian balm.. It works pretty good." Bruce didn't respond, as he was exhausted from his outburst. Tony hit the button for his floor. Once in Tony's room, Bruce curled into an overstuffed chair next to the floor-to-ceiling window. Tony rummaged around in his cluttered cabinets, letting out a soft grunt as he found the glass jar of balm. He returned, and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Might wanna lay down or something," he said, scooping a palmful of the semi-solid cream out, "Take your shirt off." Bruce hesitated for a moment, then shrugged off his purple linen shirt and draped it over the footboard. In the fading twilight, Tony saw thick crisscrossed scars lacing Bruce's pale skin. A large patch of his shoulder was shiny with a long-healed burn. Bruce laid down, head propped on a silk pillow. Tony's thumbs slipped easily down Bruce's spine, kneading knots and working through years of stress. His fingers grazed the thick, ropey scars occasionally, but Bruce didn't seem to notice.

"When you change," Tony blurted, "Does it..." He trailed off, tracing a particularly nasty scar. Bruce was silent for a minute.

"It did the first time." He replied,"My body adapted. I almost bled out, but he wouldn't let me. I woke up with my skin almost shredded." Tony continued without any more questions, until he reached the base of Bruce's spine, knocking a vertebrae into place with a satisfying _crunch. _He sat back on his heels, wiping his hands on the bedspread. His "victim" shrugged experimentally, and let out a sigh of relief. Tony let his knees fall the side, and watched as Bruce continued to lay motionless.

"C'mon," he urged, "Let's have a stiff drink and work on that project some more." Without thinking, he swatted Bruce's ass. Bruce was, in a blink, sitting up with a pillow wedged neatly between his chest and knees. "Shit," Tony muttered, "Shouldn't have done that, eh? Do you need a minute to put the other guy in place?" Bruce shook his head silently, but Tony backed towards his closet anyway. He studied Banner for a few seconds, then turned and went to find a change of pants, as the balm had found its way onto his current pair. In the recesses of his closet, Tony sunk into a crouch against a wall. His palms held the memory of Bruce's skin, and a self loathing smirk found its way to his lips.


End file.
